It's not that the song isn't great, though it isn't. It's that after hearing it fifty or so times in the last week, I find I'm unable to walk, talk, or think without it popping into my head. Arg. The humanity. But it's made more irritating with my friends and family, all of whom seem to love this song and insist on hearing it in my presence. Will I forever be cursed to roam the prison of popular music? Dear lord, you know I've served my time.

A friend of mine died recently. When I say friend, I could have known him better, but he and I spoke and spent time together when we could, and we always stopped each other on the street to see how the other was doing. It was a casual friendship, to be sure, but it was becoming real and meaningful. To the extent that I was very glad when I found out through the grapevine that he'd received a First in his Degree, and was going to graduate in the top 5% of his year.

His name was Gerard McKenna, and he died a couple of weeks after finding out his results. It was a rally accident, he was there spectating, close to a corner, with another guy, and when the car came round the bend, it flew over the ramp, veered and smashed straight through both of them at nearly 70 miles per hour. I heard about it on Sunday and since then have been feeling a little strange.

Not surprisingly, I think he deserved it more in many ways, but the lesson I'm supposed to draw from this, that I should get on, and DO something with my life before it's too late, belies something else. That I'm not as powerful as I once thought I was, and that death, so random, so final, so very real can take people as young and as ambitious as I.

With all that’s going on, how does one even begin to try? There are plenty of sources to turn to. There is plenty going on that could even be construed as interesting enough to forgo an episode of “Friends” every now and again just to stay informed. A citizen of the world doesn’t even need money to access these sources. I smoked a cigarette in front of half a dozen newspaper machines and got overloaded with front page headlines. My fair city, herself, has two nationally acclaimed newspapers not to mention a website.

I still can’t keep up. And I think I know why.

It doesn’t interest me enough. It’s not that I don’t care about my community or the rest of the state or even the rest of the world. It’s that there are too many valid distractions. I see the news on one channel but I also see Brittany’s midriff on another. I hear the radio station break for an update on the current events and I immediately find a station that’s playing some music (preferably the Clash but I’d settle for anything that hasn’t been on MTV in the last five years). I’m blasted with shocking stories and horrific events 24 hours a day and I have been for the last 20 years, it’s all lost it’s edge. You can’t shock me anymore. I could turn on the TV and find out that a giant, plaid gorilla is climbing my office building and shooting hallucinogenic napalm from his prosthetic horns and he speaks with a thick, Haitian accent and I’d probably blink then change the channel to see if Kelly Osborn is going to get that tattoo that Ozzy forbid her to get.

I pulled out of my garage, today, the air was thick with a bluish haze from the Nation’s largest forest fire and I didn’t even flinch. The thought that my house might not be here when I got back didn’t cross my mind, what crossed my mind was that I’d probably wear a mask to filter out the death if I thought I might look cool and not like some burned out raver.

On the train, a girl hacked her way to an available seat and pulled the mask she’d kept just off her face so she wouldn’t smear her make-up and looked at herself in a compact mirror. I wondered if the mask was a fashion accessory because it sure wasn’t filtering smoke an inch from her cheeks.

Meanwhile, the Fertile Crescent is continuing their seven thousand year war. Every once in a while, when it affects us directly, we’ll take notice but not for very long. Even our red, white and blue bumper stickers are starting to fade and peel off. As long as the Unleaded stays reasonable and there are no more landmarks wiped off the map, we stay pretty content with our hot Starbucks Carmel Machiattas and thank God for those corrugated cardboard sheaths that protect our moisturized and exfoliated hands from getting burned by our after-breakfast-before-lunch boost.

Who can keep up?

I have to log onto my hotmail account every day and throw the entire inbox, full of debt consolidation, penis enlargement, and hot ‘n horny something-or-other, into the virtual trash just so that there’s room for the next batch. I don’t even use this account but I maintain it just in case. I respond to my friends in Canada, England and New Hampshire every day via Instant Messengers and e-mail but I haven’t even shook hands with my next door neighbor who shares a lawn with me.

Living alone, and not just living alone, but being alone more than I ever have in my life. My family is unfathomably far away. My boyfriend is no longer my boyfriend, and although I know I will see him again eventually, and I know he would come through for me if I needed him, it is still an uncertain situation for me.

I have been living with the lights off, which is a total shock to me since I usually try to make my environment as bright as possible. This is not a response to depression - it is because I don't seem to need the light.

I have been staying up until I am tired, then going to sleep dirty and trying not to think. I shower in the morning now. I never did before.

I have also been going out every day. To get job applications, to buy more vitamins, to use the internet at the library. I tried to explore Salem but it confused me and made me mad, so I left as soon as I could find a way out.

Otherwise, I have been watching DVDs and playing computer solitaire, but today I finally got my phone line and internet access. I caved and bought a good TV tuner card which will come in eventually, but not soon enough. I wish I had a friend with a tv to impose on to tide me over. I'm very wary about imposing on Ryan. He can take less human contact than even I can handle. And I'm not sure how to act in my new role as his just a friend. Then again, I'm not sure how to act in most roles with most people.

Oh, and apologies to Ereneta for being bitchy when she asked me to credit the writer of some lyrics I noded some time ago. Quite ironic for that song to come up now. I'm sure she was trying to be nice in the way she worded her request, but I would have preferred a straightforward "Please include this" to her "If you like the song so much, you'll want to give the writer credit" roundabout approach.

This couple of friends live on the fifth floor. Upon saying goodbye to them, we reach for the usual lift and hit the "zero" button. Some logical hoochie-smoochie follows as the elevator goes down and we stumble out of it as soon as we hear the doors open. But we're not in the basement yet and we notice this rather old lady, understanding she has just stopped the lift on the first floor.

Lady - "I just can't open my door, the key doesn't work anymore, come and see."SharK - "Sure, we'll have a look."

My girlfriend nods. The woman leads us to her door and demonstrates how desperatly non-working his lock is.

Lady - "See? I've been having problems with it for about 2 months."SharK - "May I have a try?"

/me tries and fails to open the damn door. I'm not a lock specialist at all anyway...

SharK - "It really has a problem, I'm sorry to say you'll have to call a locksmith as I cannot do anything for you..."

The look in her face is sader than ever, and her voice fainter and fainter.

Lady - "A locksmith came about one month ago, but it's MAGIC you know... People come here at night to touch the locks and put spells on them... It's some African sorcerer work..."SharK - "Er..."

The situation gets stuck a little bit to this point as the lady: still can't open her flat's door, doesn't plan to call a locksmith and keeps talking about black magic. We don't know what to do and the need to laugh very noisily at this sorcerer story becomes stronger... The lady eventually makes the next step.

The light switches itself of... My girlfriend is about to switch it back on...

Lady - "Don't switch it back !"

Too late. Maybe my girlfriend was fearing some accomplice thugs would come and assault us, and I admit this idea went through my mind for half a second.

The door still hasn't been unlocked, but she gives it another try and the key eventually performs its normal anticlockwise motion. Quick glance to my girlfriend, bewildered.

Lady - "You see?"SharK - "Er... Yes..."Lady - "It's been like that for about two months, sorcerer's magic..."SharK - "Er... OK... You're safe at home now, take care of yourself, we got to go."Lady - "Thank you very much Monsieur! Thank you very much!"SharK - "You're welcome, goodbye!"

Insane laughter ensues in the elevator.
But the corridor light trick remains unexplained...

A funny situation, we're in.
Downright weird for me. If i go along with everything, i lay myself open to being completely taken for granted, secondary, something to fall back on when the next new exciting thing isn't exciting anymore.
Like me.
If i react against it, i'll drive you away.
A genuine binary situation - either support you and become furniture - blankie! - or fight and lose you.
I wish i knew what to do.

My desperate attempts to find anything at all interesting to execute turn out as miserable as usual - I only manage to come up with flat out frightening lists of tasks I have postponed time after time...

Bills unpaid, clothes lying, letters not sent.

Suddenly the phone rings.

Any usual day, I find myself not wanting to answer the phone. This time, regardless of whom it could be, I am socially charged. I need to discharge all my energy and enthusiasm before I explode.

I dare myself to see who's calling and eventually pick up the phone, too.

It's Anne.

She wants to know whether she and a couple of her friends can show up at my house later tonight.

Usually, I'd refuse.

This time, I have no options. If they don't show up, I'll be out, talking to strangers on the street in what, fifteen minutes.

"Sounds like a plan," I grin at her on the phone. She agrees to take care of all the details.

They show up, we play social for a while, eat and what-not. The evening turns out okay.

* Run in the graveyard at 01am ((Project: Read gravestone-writings))
* Walk 10 miles around the city ((Project: Avoid meeting people, meet them anyway)) * Lie in WET WET WET grass absolutely still ((Project: Attract rabbits and bunnies! Succesful! See them mate! Lots of much cutesy stuff!)) * Break into a nearby stadium after closing-time. ((Project: Run the 1 mile track and clock it (I ran properly quick, too.))) * Forget how to properly separate lines in HTML ((Project: E2)) * Visit yet another nearby lake ((Project: taste a MINIMUM amount of deep deep dark water)) * Avoid bats! * Break into a local SCARY industry zone! (I saw nightmares about it when I was little.) * Be hollowed by the local mob! * Call 911, more to follow because you saw them rob b***^#*&@# tada, also * Play in local theme park during night-time! * Project: See if you are better at playing now... + lots of other cool haxz0r things w00t, yes yes all during same day, me nuts. :)) ((***))

no laugh, no people.
no sweat, no running.
no cry, no loving.
no pain, no living.
it hurts.
sometimes.

*ZAP*

Otherwise, I'm dead. Does all the rationale in the world compensate
for one lost yet living soul. No. Experiencing things never to be
seen rational truly accounts for something inconceivable and brings
forth experiences of utterless joy - and happiness. If not, also
sadness and grief. Illness and pain. Hurt and madness, depression,
what not. Unfortunately. THAT is just life. I am afraid, no?

Category:

So, today is day three of Wimbledon. And, it is absolutely insane. First, Marat Safin lost. I love Safin, he cracks me up. He's very passionate about the game. Passionate, like John Mcenroe, passionate. He throws things and gets in people's faces. And, he's out in the second round. And then, Pete Sampras lost. (Which, shouldn't be a surprise, as he was playing on Court 2, which is called the "Graveyard of Champions".) Last, Andre Agassi lost. That's two former champions on their way home after the second round. On the plus side, Andy Roddick beat Alberto Martin and will be advancing. The only former champion left, Richard Krajicek won in five sets over James Blake. Blake is red hot this year, climbing the rankings and Krajicek recently took twenty months off of the tour because of injuries. The last set went into a tie break. It was a crazy day in Tennis.

I was grumpy with feeling a bit ill, and rushing to the tube station. I thought perhaps some chocolate would help me get home, but the Cadburys machine in the tube station seemed to think it was funny to claim that it had run out of everything except some fruit flavoured obscuro-bar, which looked like chocolate and smelt like chocolate. The charade almost fooled me until I bit into it. There's a reason those were the only ones left.

I wandered to the far end of the platform, looking for a space big enough to contain my weariness, but found instead a homeless man, thin and with a scraggy beard. I didn't make eye contact, so I was somewhat surprised when he walked over to me and offered me a McVitieschocolate biscuit from a packet. "Fancy a biscuit?" I refused from politeness the first time, but he persisted and eventually persuaded me. I nearly gave him my chocolate bar in return, but figured that anyone who liked what I'm convinced was celery flavour, was probably not the kind of person to end up homeless. He seemed thorougly nice although a little strange. As the train pulled away from the platform and he waved, I wondered if it was just his friendliness and his naive failure to see the risks of talking to people that made him seem so different to the rest of society.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to see things from a radically different perspective. To be an alien in a confusing world, not inferior or superior, just different, Would people think you were mad? Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I were mad. Do people know when they're mad? A madness that shares McVitieschocolate biscuits is a madness we could do with more of.

I know a few people who've been to see councillors. It must be strange talking to a stranger about your deepest feelings. Surely that's what friends should be for, to be unhidden with. There's a lot of expectation in society. A lot of views about the way people should be. Hiding from who you really are is probably the true madness.

Today's a wierd day for me. I get a phone call to see if I can come over and fix my brother's zip drive (Ah the curse of being the computer geek in the family. "It doesn't work and my wife needs to get something off a disk she used as backup." So I head over and fix the problem, stupid me forgot to reattach the IDE cable to the drive, when I added the CD Burner. Oh and btw, I hate working on Dell Computers, the cases are so tiny and small. So cramped that it makes it hard to work at all.

I hate this, it just seems like all I'm noding nowadays is daylogs. But I really can't think of anything to write.

Well as usual I was supposed to go to my class. But I opted out instead since I wasn't feeling that great, and decided to give a book back to my friend before she had to go back home -- another country -- the day was so hot. Well yes, this has relevance to my other daylogs. Me, my friend, and her boyfriend decided to go get ice cream or coffee since it was just way too hot to stay in her place. On our way out who do we see? It's Bike Girl! No, I'm seriously not planning this, it seems everytime I go to visit my friend we cross paths. I don't know what's going on. But it is making me crazy. Like, I should kill her or something now because it's just way too weird. But killing is bad. So I guess not.

On our way back to my friend's place we sat outside because it was hot, we talked for a while and again Bikegirl appears from behind us. She's coming out of the dorm across from my friend's? This is way too weird. All coincidence, my friend pointed her out to me because she I was facing the other way, when I looked up I could only see her shorts which I recognized from earlier on when we passed her, that was like 2 hours before.

Sigh, I think I hate life again. Yes it's always again, or should it just be I hate it even more? Bike girl is literally making me go crazy. Oh well, after my friend moves out of that place I won't see her again so everything will be fine.